Harrow begins to heal almost as soon as Palamedes’ hands fall away. Briefly he’s entranced, watching bone, and nerves, and skin knit together, leaving her skull smooth again, with only the slightest dusting of dried blood to show what they had accomplished.

Palamedes goes to the sink to wash the blood from his hands. He takes off his glasses, finds a dishcloth, dampens it, and presses it to his face. It comes away stained pink.

He smiles just a little when Gideon speaks. It worked. The realization thrills him and floods him with relief. “I’d like to come by tomorrow,” he says, all business. “To ensure no complications have arisen.”